


the sinking man

by robotsdance



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Bottom Jaime Lannister, Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Going Away Inside, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Memory gaps, Past Abuse, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Post-War, Rope Bondage, Subspace, Top Brienne of Tarth, bondage is not a substitute for therapy, it can be therapeutic as fuck tho, see authors notes for trigger warnings re: cersei/jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-20 14:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20676776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdance/pseuds/robotsdance
Summary: Jaime is aware that going away inside, the way he does when the world is so much he can not remain in his body, and going under, the way he does with Brienne, when she is in control and he is so exactly right there with her that the rest of the world fades out of focus, are connected somehow. They aren’t the same, but they are similar. At first he thought they were exact opposites, the two extremes on either end of the spectrum of being in or out of his body, but the more he and Brienne explored what she was capable of doing to him, the more he realized it wasn’t that simple.Alternatively: After the war Jaime and Brienne visit Casterly Rock. Jaime deals with being there to the best of his ability. Brienne helps him however she can.





	the sinking man

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. I really wanted to read a ‘going away inside and subspace are almost exact opposites but are also similar and connected’ fic. I did not want to have to write it, but I wanted to read it. Predictably, I wrote it anyway. As such:
> 
> Trigger warnings for incest, childhood sexual abuse, manipulation, and mentions of character deaths, as well as a general warning for any/all past Jaime traumas. None of it is described in detail but this fic treads this territory:
> 
> _He could never bear to be long apart from his twin. Even as children, they would creep into each other's beds and sleep with their arms entwined. Even in the womb. Long before his sister's flowering or the advent of his own manhood, they had seen mares and stallions in the fields and dogs and bitches in the kennels and played at doing the same. Once their mother's maid had caught them at it . . . he did not recall just what they had been doing, but whatever it was had horrified Lady Joanna. She'd sent the maid away, moved Jaime's bedchamber to the other side of Casterly Rock, set a guard outside Cersei's, and told them that they must never do that again or she would have no choice but to tell their lord father. They need not have feared, though. It was not long after that she died birthing Tyrion. Jaime barely remembered what his mother had looked like. -A Storm of Swords, Jaime III_
> 
> through the lens of a dissociating adult Jaime who’s still processing what he can with varying degrees of success. 
> 
> Also: This fic takes place in the same universe as [take care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888006) so if you want to read about early relationship J/B establishing safewords and learning how to navigate their trauma and their increasingly kinky sex life that fic exists, but the kink negotiation (and subsequent scene) in this fic take place in the context of an established relationship where this is very much not their first time doing this.

Jaime’s not sure when he went away inside but Brienne is there beside him when he comes back. Maybe she brought him back. He does not know.

He takes a breath. As deep as he can manage.

He is here. Standing here.

He does not want to be here but he is.

Casterly Rock.

*

Jaime finds himself elsewhere. Another room in the castle he grew up in. Another place he does not remember walking to just now.

He knew this would happen. He had felt himself going further and further away the closer they got to Casterly Rock. Being away inside is as familiar as the stone walls that surround him.

Last night he had surrendered to it. Lying in bed at the inn they had stayed in while was Brienne asleep beside him he’d gone away inside. He’d been fighting it all day, trying to stay there as much as he could as they travelled but he thought… he thought if he gave in then he could be more in control now. So he lay still and went away, numbness spreading through him as he stared unblinking at the ceiling. How long he lay there he does not know.

It hadn’t worked. He was away inside then and he’s away inside now, unable to stay focused on anything, drifting in and out of his thoughts and in and out of his body as he blurs between varying degrees of detached with no control whatsoever. It’s been a while since he found himself like this.

It feels worse than he remembers.

*

Tyrion is showing Brienne around the Rock and thank the gods for it because Jaime is in no state to conduct a tour. When Jaime first arrived on Tarth Brienne took him around herself, showing him her home as she sees it. Where she grew up, the little places only she knew, the spaces where she started to become the person she is. Jaime had basked in every moment of it. What a gift it was to see such a beautiful place through Brienne’s eyes.

The last thing Jaime wants is for Brienne to see Casterly Rock through his eyes.

So she’s with Tyrion and Jaime is not with them. He’s trying to keep his distance from Brienne while they’re here. To give her a break from him. She had to deal with him getting more and more distant the closer they got to Casterly Rock. The least he can do is not inflict himself on her when he’s like this. She gives him so much already. More than he deserves on his best day. And lately it seems all he can do is take and take and take.

It reminds him of Cersei. Taking and taking and taking.

He fears beyond measure being like Cersei in this way.

He fears beyond measure being like Cersei in any way.

*

It’s all here. Casterly Rock holds spaces that belong to Cersei and him. And them alone.

The room where they were born.

The room they shared when they were babes.

The bedchambers they shared as young children. In actual fact, two rooms side by side, but in his memories they are one. Most every night he and his twin would finds ways to sleep in the same bed after all.

And the room he was moved to.

After.

The first After.

Jaime doesn’t remember.

He doesn’t remember what they had been caught doing.

But he does remember finding himself in his new room. After. Like he was waking up from a bad dream.

He was in a different bed on the other side of the castle and he was not ever to go back to his old room.

There was a guard posted outside of Cersei’s room to make sure.

*

(He does remember it was Cersei’s idea. He wishes he didn’t.)

*

He and Cersei didn’t stay separated for very long.

Soon their mother died.

And he and Cersei found their way back to each other.

*

Everywhere he looks. Cersei is there. And so is he.

The two of them run through every hall he walks, darting in and out of doors, shouting and laughing at their own cleverness.

Never further from each other than a shadow would be, never older than nine or ten.

Happy.

Those memories are happy.

*

Jaime hates being here. He hates it.

Casterly Rock has welcomed him the way Cersei always did: on the condition he surrender himself completely.

Jaime would have avoided this forever if he could. He very nearly did. After the war he and Brienne went to Tarth. He’d never been to Tarth.

And neither had Cersei.

*

He and Brienne had agreed to come (they couldn’t very well not attend Tyrion’s wedding) but they made it very clear when they replied to the raven that they would not be staying for long.

What they meant was:

Jaime can’t stay there.

*

He finds himself looking out across the waves to the west.

The same water on the other side of the world.

The sea does not soothe him the way it does on Tarth. There it surrounds them. Holds them. Keeps them safe.

Here the land and sea clash.

A never ending war between the elements.

Restless.

Relentless.

*

This room. This is where Jaime remembers their father explaining that Cersei would not be the one to inherit Casterly Rock. He remembers how unfair that seemed to them both. They were the same. She was older than him by almost no time at all. Why should he get their home and she should not?

They must have been very young, because he remembers Cersei’s crying as they lay in their bed that night. He’d held her and tried to comfort her, talking to her the way he did when she was upset. They could share Casterly Rock, no matter what father said, so she didn’t have to be sad.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad,” she’d told him in the dark, “I’m crying because I’m angry.”

*

_I was Cersei here_, he thinks as he catches sight of his reflection and quickly looks away. In her clothes, in her skin, in her life. Looking at her and seeing himself looking back, when they tried on each other’s clothes yes, but also every day. Always. Seeing their reflections side by side and giggling over how similar they were. How was he to know they weren’t the same?

His life. His whole life.

*

Does he have a single memory of this place that isn’t about Cersei somehow? He does not know. He does not know.

*

He’s standing in the yard where he first learned to fight. Where he was given a sword and the world felt right.

Cersei wasn't allowed to come with him.

*

It’s like walking around in a fog, but the fog is between his mind and his body. Between his eyes and his brain. The fog is everywhere, impenetrable, inescapable.

He blinks, shakes his head, blinks again, but nothing comes into focus.

Even when he tries not to, he can only see without seeing.

*

He’s standing in the spot where he overheard other boys wondering the kinds of things boys wonder about. About war and battle and tournaments of course, but also about their futures. About where they would be in five years. In ten. In twenty. Most of them had no idea, could only hope and dream and wonder.

Jaime never joined in. He already knew. His father had laid his future out before him since the day he was born.

*

There are gradients of going away inside. When it happens, sometimes he is more aware of it than other times. Sometimes it almost feels like he is choosing it, other times the blankness consumes him without warning or mercy.

It wasn’t until after the war was over that he came to understand that his resting state was much closer to Away than he ever realized. Before, going away inside was what he called those occasions where he was entirely gone. Blank. Standing vigil over his father’s body for days on end with no rest. Unfazed. Unseeing. Gone. Until he emerged from Away with little or no sense of how he got there.

That was going away inside. The rest of the time he was just going about his days.

He’d had no idea… he’d had no idea just how far away he was all that time. Back then he could mindlessly move through his life without pause. He could tread water indefinitely without ever noticing he was alone in the middle of an ocean with no land in sight. As long as he never realized how close he was to drowning he was fine. Functional. But now he knows and the functional level of away inside is no longer his default and it seems, no longer an option at all.

He’s not the man he used to be.

*

How many days of his life was he away inside for? How many years?

How long did he see Cersei without seeing her?

*

He’s standing in the place where he first overheard boys around his age wondering about girls. Even then their curiosity seemed crude and ignorant. Innocent.

Jaime never joined in on their speculation.

Jaime already knew.

Jaime didn’t remember not knowing.

*

_He’s lied to you a thousand times._

_And so have I._

When did Cersei know she was lying to him?

Did she decide to lie to him one day? Just to see what would happen?

Or had she been lying to him all along?

_A thousand times._

She was his whole life.

For so long.

Was any of it true?

*

_We’re going to die together._

Jaime can’t remember the first time Cersei told him this. It was always just a fact of their lives. They were born together. They would die together.

Simple.

_We’re going to die together _is what Cersei said, but only now does it occur to Jaime that what she was really saying, all that time was, _You’re going to die with me._

*

What he doesn’t remember haunts him as much as what he does. There are gaps, great chasms of nothingness where… something should be.

But there is nothing.

And on the edge of that is Cersei. Always. In his peripheral vision, following in his footsteps, whispering in his ear.

A part of him still.

*

He’s gotten better at not listening to the part of him that still speaks in Cersei’s voice, but here it is harder.

She is everywhere here.

*

Brienne’s voice is there too.

_You were a child_, Brienne says to him in his mind, exactly the way she has said to him before, though she has no idea how correct she is. She knows the gist, knows more details the closer they get to his present, but he’s never really told her about this part. Regardless, in his thoughts Brienne is understanding and forgiving, even though she of all people does not need to forgive him for this. For anything. 

_I was a child._

But all Jaime can think is, _So was Cersei._

*

Did Cersei do this to him? Did they do this to each other?

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t remember.

*

He finds himself standing on the edge of the cliff he once jumped off of. The ocean is a long way down. A long long way down.

He was seven.

And he was standing right here. And Cersei was standing right there.

And then he jumped.

Looking down he has no idea how he survived. Looking down he has no idea why he jumped at all. He doesn’t remember why he jumped. Just that he did.

Would he have jumped if Cersei wasn’t there with him?

The crash of waves below roars in his ears where he stands and he wonders. He can’t help but wonder.

Did Cersei tell him to jump?

*

It’s easier to deal with what Cersei became. The Cersei who died is a Cersei who deserved what she got.

It is the middle he struggles with. The end was the end. And when it came, it came as a relief. But the middle… the middle is all he remembers.

There was no beginning.

They were born and it was too late.

*

His earliest memories are of Cersei looking back at him. What is he supposed to do with those?

*

He had loved her. Had fallen in love with her.

That part is true.

He knows. With certainty.

He had loved her.

Then and for a long while after.

But he has no idea if she ever really loved him.

*

Jaime is standing on a balcony looking out towards the east. Tarth is over there. Way over there. He misses it very much.

Down below he can see Brienne with Tyrion. She’s laughing at something he said.

He can see the road he and Brienne followed on their way in. Somewhere down there is the inn they stayed at last night. They could have easily made it to Casterly Rock before nightfall. They had plenty of time. So much time.

Jaime had still suggested they stop for the night. Rest. Arrive fresh the following morning.

And Brienne had known exactly what he was doing and why, but she hadn’t brought it up as they turned towards the first inn they came across.

*

Was it ever true? Cersei and him. He and Cersei.

It wasn’t by the end. He knows that for certain. And for a long while before that it was not what he thought it had been.

He’s not sure what would be worse, knowing it was a lie from the start, or knowing that for a brief moment, even a tiny fraction of linear time, it had been real.

*

“Do we have to go?” Jaime had asked, when he first heard what invitation the raven had brought. He meant it to sound lighthearted, like he didn’t fancy a trek west just now, but perhaps later, thank you so much for the consideration.

Brienne was all too understanding, far too serious when she answered with careful precision, “Not if you don’t want to.”

*

Cersei never asked why he killed Aerys.

Not once.

Jaime thought… at first he thought she would. She would know to ask. No one else did, but she was the same as him. She would know to ask. She would feel the reason weighing on the soul they shared and ask.

She never asked.

And he never told her. Somewhere along the way he decided that even if she did ask, he wouldn’t tell her. But she never asked.

So he didn’t tell anyone.

He didn’t tell anyone until he told Brienne.

Once he had wanted Cersei to know, but he is glad she died not knowing.

At least there is one piece of his past that is wholly his.

*

The effort is he exerting to stay in his body even a little is making him tremble. It’s not as pronounced as a shiver, probably not noticeable to anyone except Brienne, and she is not here with him to see just now, but he knows he’s shaking, can feel himself tremor as he tries to hold himself in his body, to not go any further away inside, to stay here—

*

He doesn’t remember making the choice to go back outside, but he’s walking the grounds again. As far away as he can get without it appearing like he’s fleeing.

He walks past an old well and stops.

Cersei. Cersei had a friend who died here. What was her name? She fell down this well and died. They can’t have been older than ten or so when it happened.

Melara. Her name was Melara. And she fell in that well and drowned.

Melara had liked him.

Melara had liked him a lot.

*

*

Jaime is somewhere else when Brienne finds him and he reels back into his body. He’s not where he last remembers being. Is nowhere near where he last remembers being.

He can tell by the expression on her face that he looks awful.

He feels awful. Being back in his body and standing here, even briefly, is worse, a thousand times worse than being away inside.

She says something about food. Or water. About warmth. It’s windy where he’s standing, but it is not the cold that is making him tremble. He nods anyway. Lets her lead the way.

*

He stops walking. He’s not even conscious of why, he just. Stops.

And when Brienne turns to check on him he must look even worse because her expression shifts and she steps forward as if afraid he’s going to pass out. As if she means to catch him.

He doesn’t feint, but he does end up in her arms.

He stays there for a long while.

*

He mumbles an apology to her as he steps back.

“For what?”

He shrugs, overcome by how helpless he feels here. He feels needy and rattled and weak. He’d rather jump into a bear pit unarmed every day for the rest of his life than stay in this place a moment longer.

“It’s not fair to you,” he says to her boots, “To have to deal with this. With me. Here.”

Brienne reminds him of all the things he does for her. The various ways he takes care of her, some so unconscious he never would have listed them himself. But she does. She lists them in logical progression. “And that’s just this moon,” she says, “Would you like me to go on?”

He shakes his head. She’s made her point.

“We need different things at different times,” Brienne tells him, her hand on his cheek, “We are not the same person.”

No.

They are not.

Thank the Seven.

*

It is… strange to sit down to a meal here. Tyrion is sitting across from him. Brienne is on his right.

Tyrion killed their father. And Jaime… Well. Cersei is dead.

And here they sit.

*

Tyrion is busy so it is a young woman who shows them to the room they have been given for the duration of their stay. She gave them her name, but it has already slipped from Jaime’s mind as he tries not to think about what Cersei would say about the servant, about him daring to return to Casterly Rock with Brienne at his side, about Tyrion getting married, about—

He follows the woman and Brienne into the bedchamber and halts as surely as if he walked straight into a wall.

He can’t stay here. He can’t stay here. He can’t sleep here. He can’t be here right now. He can’t be here. He can’t—

*

*

His name. Brienne is saying his name. Based on the concern in her voice it’s not the first or second time. Nor the last.

“Jaime?”

He turns to look at her with great difficulty, waits for his eyes to bring her into focus. She feels miles away.

She takes his hand and leads him from the room.

*

She leads and he follows. He falls in step beside her as she guides him to wherever she is taking him. He hasn’t asked. He hasn’t said anything at all.

Anywhere else is better than there.

*

They’re outside and she’s still leading him further. The Rock is behind them and they are moving back in the direction they came in. The smell of the sea on the breeze nudges him back into his body just a tad.

“Where are we going?” he hears himself ask.

“The inn.”

“We don’t have a room.”

“We do. I paid them for three nights,” she says as she looks over at him. He hopes he looks better than he feels. “I thought it would be good to have the option,” she adds, the hint of an apology in her voice.

He nods at the ground as he struggles to get his gratefulness into words.

*

Their room from yesterday is still their room. Thank the gods. Thank Brienne.

Jaime sits on the edge of their bed. His stomach is tight and solid, like a clenched fist in his gut. What air he can draw gets trapped in his lungs. One more day. He just has to make it through one more day. Then they can leave. Then they can go home.

One more day.

*

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says quietly. Very quietly. He’s lying on the far side of the bed on top of the blankets curled towards the wall and he needs her to know how sorry he is about that. About everything.

“When my father died,” Brienne says to his back, “Do you remember what you did for me?”

He remembers, but they were such simple things. Food. Water. A warm bath. His company when she wanted it, space when she needed it. It was nothing. Compared to what she’s had to do for him, it was nothing at all.

“Everything,” Brienne continues, “Everything I needed you to do, you did, half the time before I even knew I needed it. And do you remember what you said to me when I tried to stop you? When I apologized for needing too much?”

He does. He remembers saying it to her more than once, especially during that first moon. Variations upon the same theme as she found herself incapable of simple things. Grief taking over and leaving her more fragile than he’d ever seen her:

_I can’t change anything but I will do what I can. Let me help._

“I just want you to know that I’m here. However much you want or need. However I can help. I will.”

He hears her, understands and appreciates what she’s saying, but right now he’s too far away to respond.

*

Everything is so tangled. He can’t make sense of it as a whole.

His whole life. Cersei defined his whole life.

Until he killed a king and became something else.

But even then, he was hers. That is who he was. Cersei’s twin and lover and other half. And the Kingslayer.

That’s all he was.

Until many many years later he took a bath and nearly died declaring that his name was Jaime in Brienne’s arms.

*

At some point he rolls back towards Brienne. He’d expected to find her asleep, she’s been lying beside him on the bed for ages now, but she is awake. He feels an instinctual apology rise from within him when she makes eye contact, but he doesn’t speak it aloud this time. He doesn’t need to apologize. Not for this. So instead he says her name and tells her how she can help him right now.

She rolls onto her side towards him, lifting the blankets and letting him wedge himself up against her. His back is to her front as she lowers the blankets back down on them. She wraps her arm around him and holds him to her securely. He puts his hand over hers and closes his eyes, trying to let her warmth seep into his skin, trying to remember what it feels like to exist in his body for more than fleeting moments.

*

Brienne stays awake until after he falls asleep.

She always did prefer taking first watch.

*

“We don’t have to go,” she tells him the next day.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He’s been like this for a while now. How long he does not know. “I want to.”

And it’s true. His brother is getting married. He wants to go.

He hasn’t been able to convince his body to get up and put on his formal clothes yet.

“You can wear your armour,” she tells him, “If that will help.”

He wonders how she knows.

He wonders how she knows that when he goes away inside the familiar weight of his armour helps keep him grounded enough to find his way back.

*

It takes him far longer than it should to register that Brienne isn’t wearing the formal clothing she brought either. She’s standing beside him in her armour.

“You don’t have to wear that,” he says, unable to quite meet her eye, “Not on my account.”

A pause. Then, “You’re not the only one who feels more like yourself in armour.”

He nods. Looks at her for as long as he can before he looks up at the ceiling, willing himself to keep it together. To hold on. Just for today.

“The moment you want to leave, we will leave,” Brienne tells him, “The exact moment. Even if it’s as soon as we get there. Even if it’s right in the middle of their vows. As soon as you want to leave we will leave.”

*

The sept is how he remembers it from his childhood. The differences between then and now are so minuscule they barely register as he and Brienne take their places and wait for the ceremony to begin.

*

He was in this sept the first time he saw another set of twins. Twin girls, a few years older than he and Cersei. Identical. More identical than he and Cersei would ever be. He had stared at them the way people stared at him and Cersei for a long while before he pointed them out to her.

“They’re like us!”

“They’re nothing like us,” Cersei had hissed, barely looking at them as she said it, “No one is like us.”

*

He sees the wedding his father wanted for him, played out before his eyes with Tyrion in his place, the Lannister red cloak being draped around the shoulders of the new Lady of Casterly Rock.

In his mind he sees the wedding he wanted at nine, at five-and-ten, at twenty, at thirty…

*

He and Cersei were young. He does not remember how young because what Cersei said then was something she said for as long as he can remember.

They were playing and Jaime wanted to marry her. Just for pretend. They had attended a wedding for the first time and it had taken hold in Jaime’s imagination. He wanted to marry her in the same way Cersei would have him name her queen with a crown made of flowers.

They were children and he wanted to marry her and she wouldn’t.

_We don’t need to join our souls,_ she said matter of factly, like he was being foolish. _We are already the same, you and I. One soul in two bodies._

And even then, before that idea seemed painfully romantic, it felt true.

*

And that was how it was. Then, and for the rest of their time together.

Other people had to say vows.

He and Cersei were already one. One soul in two bodies.

That’s what she’d said.

Over and over and over again.

_We are the same, you and I._

And he’d believed her.

Oh how he’d believed her.

*

To be so far above the laws of gods and men already.

The two of them.

Already one.

_He’s lied to you a thousand times, and so have I._

Did she know then? Did she know from the start?

*

The ceremony is over.

Jaime remembers none of it.

Brienne’s hand is on his arm.

“We could leave,” she tells him quietly.

He shakes his head. The feast.

He has to go to the feast.

*

Cersei kissed him once at the end of that hallway. Grabbed his hand and pulled him to her, even though anyone could have come around the corner and seen them.

She shouldn’t have.

But she did.

And Jaime had loved it.

*

He sits. Brienne is on his right.

When it is time he toasts the Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock. His speech is witty and charming and heartfelt.

He is good at going through the motions when he has to. Treading water. He did it for years after all.

He barely touches his food.

*

The festivities are only just getting started when Brienne looks over at him.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks over the indistinct noise of revellers around them.

Jaime does not have to think about it before he answers, “Yes.”

*

She takes his hand in hers and they leave.

As simple as that.

*

The sound of the party grows more distant as they walk. One foot in front of the other. Jaime is very far away, but at least aware enough to know that. Parts of the wedding he just attended seem to be filtering through him after the fact. People who were there. Things people said to him. Things he saw. Bits and pieces come and go as they walk.

Cersei lingers as well. Her fingers clutch at his throat, making it hard to breathe.

*

They return to the inn and walk straight to their room. Their room. Casterly Rock may still be Cersei’s as much as it was ever Jaime’s but this room, this unremarkable room in an inn a little ways away is Brienne’s and his. Theirs. Just theirs.

Brienne opens the door for him to walk through first, then follows and closes the door behind them. The sound of Brienne bolting the door closed hits him hard. It’s over. It’s over. He doesn’t have to go back there. It’s done.

He reaches for Brienne, cupping her face in his hand and kissing her cheek as she reaches up to skim her thumb over his wrist. He kisses her properly soon after, soft for a moment, but then needy and desperate. A request and a plea.

Brienne is mindful not to escalate. Not to kiss him back any more than he is kissing her. But there’s no way she’s unaware of what he wants. Not when he’s kissing her the way he is.

She pulls back and studies his face before she asks, “What do you need right now?”

“You.”

It’s the first answer that comes to mind, and it’s not wrong. It’s not wrong at all.

“Is that what you want?” she asks carefully, “Or what you need?”

“Both.”

He needs her and her wants her and he wants to feel safe and he wants her to pin him down and hold him there until she is the only thing in focus and he is hers. 

“Can you… could you…”

“Jaime,” she says and there’s a slight infection that he knows and loves and needs so much right now he could collapse at how right it is, at how perfectly she is able to read him, “Do you want me to take control tonight?”

“Yes.” He does not hesitate. Does not think about it at all. He wants nothing more. He swallows, adds a “Please”.

_Please take control._

_I am yours._

_Take me._

She nods once, “I will. But I need you to tell me how. I swear to you I will do it, just tell me what you need.”

He needs

He needs

Her body over his.

Her hands on his wrists, holding him down.

He needs to feel safe, the way he has only ever felt with her, the way that sends him plummeting into the depths.

If they were at home the answer would be so simple. But they aren’t at home. They are in an inn on the other side of the Seven Kingdoms no matter how much he wishes they were not.

“Jaime,” she says quietly, “There’s rope in my bag, if that is something you want.”

“There is?” he croaks, surprised and relieved and painfully grateful, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I just thought you might want…”

He nods. He does. He absolutely does. That’s exactly what he wants. Exactly what he needs. He just has to tell her.

_Tie me up._

_Hold me down._

_Let me sink._

*

“I will go slow,” Brienne tells him, “And I’m not going to tie you to anything.”

Of course. An unfamiliar bed. She would never tie him down to something so unknown.

If he’s only bound to himself, in an emergency, if it came to it she could carry him to safety. She’s strong enough. It won’t come to that, but she’s definitely considered it.

“Understood.”

“And when you go under…” Not if. She knows as well as he does that he’s going to drop like a stone cast into the ocean tonight, “If you go away inside I will say the word and stop and stay with you until you come back.”

“Yes,” he says.

Jaime is aware that going away inside, the way he does when the world is so much he can not remain in his body, and going under, the way he does with Brienne, when she is in control and he is so exactly right there with her that the rest of the world fades out of focus, are connected somehow. They aren’t the same, but they are similar. At first he thought they were exact opposites, the two extremes on either end of the spectrum of being in or out of his body, but the more he and Brienne explored what she was capable of doing to him, the more he realized it wasn’t that simple.

It isn't a line between the two, nor are they two sides of the same coin. The connection between them is more like a loop of string. No beginning and no end, just endlessly bound, and able to twist and turn in and around itself into any number of shapes, or else become a tangled mess like a knot of thread. And every time he goes under it is different. Sometimes the threat of accidentally going away inside is so distant it seems outrageous. Laughable. Brienne can put him under until he’s speaking in tongues with no problems at all. Other nights one of them has to call a stop to it before it really begins because the space between Right Here and Away is so minute he’s all but guaranteed to end up somewhere he doesn’t want to be if they keep going.

“You’re sure you’re up for this?” Brienne asks softly.

He understands her concern. He’s been so out of it the last two days he could drop in an instant and then vanish from himself a heartbeat later if they aren’t careful.

“I’m sure,” he says, sounding exactly as desperate as he is for her to take control, to put him under, to let him sink in the safety of her, “Just go slow.”

“Of course.” She’s already said she would. They both know from experience that he shouldn’t rush under, not ever, but especially not today.

A catastrophic collapse from being Here to Away has happened only once and he has no desire to repeat the experience. He had dropped under abruptly and then Brienne was gone. Untouchable. Unreachable. He was under and alone. He remembers the vastness of that moment with only vivid horror. There were only two options available to him:

Go away inside or drown.

Alone in the deep.

His body made the choice for him, the way it always does when horror sets in: he went away inside.

Since then, the other times he’s come close to going away inside when he’s with her like this, they’ve been able to navigate away from it.

Brienne slowing or stopping completely. Gently saying, “You’re drifting” and guiding him back to her. Or him asking for more or less along the way, tethering himself to her if he felt himself at risk of going away.

“If we have to stop we’ll stop,” Jaime reassures her, they have a special word for that and they have both used it before, “But I want to try. I need—” his voice cracks on it and he has to take a breath.

Brienne’s hand is on the side of his face, telling him it’s all right without words. He’s been holding it together as best he can for days and now he doesn’t have to. He’s allowed to be this vulnerable with her. “I know,” she says, “Before I begin. Is there anything else you want me to do, or not do, to you tonight? Anything we have done before that you especially wish for or can not bear the thought of right now?”

She cares so much for him, for his safety, he can barely comprehend it, even after all this time together. All that care and affection is for him. Only for him.

There’s not a thing she could think to do to him tonight that he wouldn’t want her to try if she felt compelled to do so. He shakes his head, tells her as much, gives her free rein. He gives her control knowing that she wields it only in the ways he wants her to, only until he wants her to stop. The trust between them is more than anything he has ever known.

He is safe.

And so is she.

She nods her consent, then straightens and says, “Then kindly remove my sword.”

It is a command.

He feels his world rearrange under his feet, the noise of before already fading away as he feels himself start to settle under her first order.

_Thank you_, he wants to say. To throw his head back and cry with relief.

But instead he does exactly what she says.

*

He undoes the belt that holds Oathkeeper to her hip. It is not as swift an undertaking as it would be with two hands. He has to press his stump against the sword to hold it against her while he fiddles with the buckle with his left hand.

But she told him to remove her sword.

So he removes her sword.

*

She tells him where to go, which piece of armour to remove next. It is slow going with only one hand at his disposal, but that is the point. She wants this to take time. Very occasionally she helps. Puts a finger or two in the right place to help with a strap or buckle.

He can feel himself relaxing already, anticipation and relief hitting his system in waves, but her words keep him from drifting. He is wholly focused on her. On what she is asking him to do.

“Remove my breastplate.”

He starts to undo the straps that hold her breastplate in place.

*

Gods it is taking forever. Taking her armour off, then putting in on the stand. He’s struggling to get the spaulder to rest correctly. It’s taking too long and his frustration is mounting.

Brienne says “Stop.”

So Jaime stops.

“Come here.”

He does.

Waits.

Waits.

Then Brienne says, “When you want to kiss me, kiss me.”

This too is a command.

A wonderful command.

The generosity of it takes over him in a wash of gratitude that makes him want to kiss her.

So he kisses her.

He feels her smile into his touch.

*

When she orders him to remove her tunic he does. Then he kisses her bare shoulder, runs his fingers down her arm, touches her wrist as he lifts his head to kiss her properly.

He kisses her for a long while after that.

*

“Jaime, look at me.”

He does.

_I can see it in your eyes,_ she’s told him before. She can see where he is. Here or Away.

She needs to make sure he’s here.

And he’s here.

*

Brienne is naked and he is fully armoured and she is in complete control. The first stirrings of going under are upon him, oozing through his bloodstream like hot wax.

He’s aware enough to know that even when she chooses to do this part in the other order, having him disrobe before her, the effect on him is the same. She’s the one in control and he feels the pull of it. The joy in it. He wanted her to take control and she has, and she will stop exactly when he wants her to.

Every time, every single time they do this, it makes him feel so safe he could weep.

*

Now it’s his turn. She asks if he is ready. If he wants her to remove his sword. He does. So she does.

She asks if he wants her to remove his armour. He does. So he nods and says, “Please.”

*

She tells him what she’s going to do before she does it. Which strap she will reach for, which piece of armour she’s going to take off next. And once she has she touches him there.

His shoulder. His arm. His chest.

She’s guiding him back into his body.

Piece by piece. Bit by bit.

And it’s working.

Knowing that’s what she’s doing doesn’t make it any less effective.

Or any less remarkable.

*

She’s gotten very good at guiding him through this. At first it was a more of a guessing game, but now she can lead him like she’s navigating a dark cavern by torchlight.

She is his light.

When she leads, he follows.

*

She’s nearly finished undressing him and he’s more in his body than he has been in days. A moon maybe. It is disorienting to be so connected to himself after so long. To be here and only here. Right here and right now. In his body and nowhere else.

He lifts his hand, presses his palm to the middle of his chest and pushes it towards his right side and he feels it. Really feels it. His hand is touching his chest. He marvels at the pressure of the heel of his hand moving across his flesh, hard enough to shift his skin over the muscle beneath it as his hand goes across his body to his shoulder and then rubs down his arm.

Brienne has stopped undressing him and is watching him do this. She’s still standing right in front of him, still close but she’s no longer touching him. His hand moves over the stump of his right wrist and he feels that too.

He reaches to touch her then, just her shoulder at first, but then he steps forward and wraps her in a hug which she returns, enveloping him in her arms as he sways into her embrace.

His arms. Around Brienne.

Brienne’s arms. Around him.

His body and hers.

Here and together.

And Jaime is here to feel it.

*

She checks in again when he stands naked before her. If he still wants this. If he still wants to be tied up.

He does.

He also wants to kiss her again.

So he does.

*

Brienne tells him where to find the rope she brought and sends him to retrieve it. It is exactly where she said it would be: five bundles of rope, neatly tied and tucked under the dress she brought but did not wear.

It’s the rope they use for this and only this.

She carried it all the way across Westeros just in case.

For him.

*

She has him hand her the longest piece of rope. Makes him watch her unravel it and then find the middle with precision. Only then does she approach him.

She stays in front of him and waits, tells him what she’s doing to do. Asks if he wants something else instead. He shakes his head. What she said sounds perfect.

She walks around so she is standing behind him and says, “Lift your arms when you are ready for rope.”

Jaime closes his eyes. Takes the moment she gives him to prepare. To be ready. He doesn’t want to hurry this tonight. He wants to be here. Right here. Right from the start.

So he waits.

And waits.

Until he is ready.

Then he lifts his arms.

*

The rope harness she is crafting over his chest, one precise pass of rope at a time, does not actually restrict his movement in any way. It’s a way to draw this out, to give them both more time with this part, to let him enjoy every single lingering moment of the process of the rope and her hands on his skin.

Jaime tries to follow the method she uses as she goes about applying the rope to his upper body. She’s standing behind him, wrapping rope around him in horizontal lines, which she’s then tucking into the rope at the back and working her way up his spine and then looping around the front of his chest again.

He’s asked her to talk him through this part before, which she had, describing in detail which direction to add tension, where to loop the rope under itself to hold firmly in place as she works her way up his back, where to leave a little extra slack, all the little things she’s figured out through practicing on him. Inevitably, each and every time he had asked for the detailed version he was so into it by the third pass of rope that he had retained exactly nothing she had said.

But gods, the sound of her calmly explaining how easy she found it to tie him up, as he could feel only her and the rope doing exactly that, did things to him.

Good things.

To be fair, he doesn’t need her to explain what she’s doing to feel good things about everything that’s happening right now. He’s already more relaxed than he has been in ages, his head lolling slightly off centre, and she’s only at the part where she brings the rope up over his shoulder. She steps around him coming to his front, rope in hand as she guides it over his collarbone and down to the middle of his chest. She’s focused on the rope but she glances at his face and he has the wherewithal to smile a very blissed-out smile at her.

He watches her bite back a little grin as she brings the rope to the centre of his body, tucking it under the lowermost horizontal rope on his torso before bringing it back up towards his other shoulder. She stops near his heart, tucking the rope under the second rung of rope across his chest. He hums at the extended contact as she adjusts tension and placement before stepping around his other side and pulling the rope over his other shoulder.

He lets his eyes fall closed, savouring this as much as he can. She’s nearly done this part, he knows. He can feel her working the final knot against his spine.

His limbs are still free. He is not tied up at all. But he is paralyzed all the same.

Bound.

To her.

*

Her hands let go of the rope and he knows she’s done because the ropes stay in place. She wraps her arms around him from where she stands behind him, her chest pressing against his back. She kisses the side of his neck as she puts her hand over the ropes on his chest where they rest just over his heart.

Brienne tells him to breathe.

So Jaime breathes.

His ribcage expands against the rope as he inhales, slow and deep and filling, as she holds him. He feels boneless in her arms, surprised he’s still capable of standing on his own two feet as he exhales, all tension gone from his body.

“Good?” she asks against his shoulder.

She’s asking about the rope. If he’s comfortable. If there’s anything she needs to adjust before moving on.

Good is not an adequate word for how he feels right now. He is never more in his body than when he is with her like this.

He sighs contently.

“Very good.”

*

His body is so full inside. Gods she is so good at this. He turns his head to follow hers as she walks around to his front, trailing her hand across his back as she moves around him.

She pauses in front of him to take him in.

He loves how obvious it is that she likes seeing him like this.

_I can see it in your eyes, _she’s told him. Well, he can see it in her eyes too.

Her eye shine with it. Love and care and trust and desire and it feels like everything. Absolutely everything.

“More?” she asks.

“Please.”

*

She leads him to the bed with one hand on his waist, another on his shoulder. A variation of a dance they might have done at the wedding feast if they had stayed longer.

Thank fuck they didn’t.

*

She doesn’t let go of him as she lowers him to the bed, and she is equally gentle about how she joins him there. First she sits beside him, and even when he leans over to kiss her, to pull her down to him, she does not move to get on top of him. She is still right here with him but she’s not pushing, not taking.

In other circumstances he might tease her about her caution, Seven know they’ve done this enough times to know where this is going. But he appreciates the little ways she finds to let him set the pace, to let him lead her through this. She’s in control because he wants her to be, but the two of them do this together. Giving and taking and giving and taking.

It still takes him less than the span of ten heartbeats to end up underneath her, exactly where he wants to be.

*

Brienne is touching him. Kissing him. And he’s touching her and kissing her and pulling her closer and asking for more and she’s giving him more and more and more. And it’s all overwhelming in the best way. The way she draws her fingers down his chest and traces the pattern of rope she put there and then rakes her hands through his hair, moving his head into a better position to kiss him, hard enough to leave him wanting more but pulling back to trace his jaw with her thumb before kissing him again, to graze past his thighs, to hum against his collarbone.

So many sensations.

All of them mean, “I’ve got you.”

All of them mean, “You’re in safe hands.”

And he is here.

Exactly right here.

*

“Please,” he says breathless and ready. He wants her to tie him up. He needs her to tie him up. He’s ready. He’s ready. He’s ready.

*

True to her word Brienne ties him only to himself.

Ankle to ankle.

Wrist to wrist.

And when she is done she has him test her work. Has him move his limbs, mapping the limits of his restraints, making sure he is comfortable, that this is what he wants.

She has him bend his legs and spread his knees, feeling the mobility he still has. She hasn’t bound his ankles as tightly as she has on other occasions. There’s about a foot of rope connecting them tonight. Enough so that he can cross one foot over the other if he wants to. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, though he’s not sure it is necessary. She could tie him so tightly he couldn’t squirm an inch and he wouldn’t complain.

His restraints feel amazing. They are not too tight. They are not too loose. They are exactly what he needs right now.

“They’re perfect,” he assures her as she does one final check at his right arm, her finger passing over the rope and his skin at the worst of his scarring, making sure it’s not too tight, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, and there’s a hint of habitual formality in her tone that he finds hopelessly endearing as she shifts her attention from his wrists, moving so she is looking at his face. Then she brushes the hair from his eyes with callused fingers and presses a kiss to his forehead and everything about the gesture is so tender he has to remember to breathe.

*

She has him lie on his side, facing her.

And she lies beside him facing him.

His wrists are bound and in front of his chest. She’s holding his hand.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“Here,” he answers, “With you.”

“Good,” she says softly.

They lie there for a long moment. He feels warm and safe and present. More present than he’s been in a long time. Too long.

“What do you need right now Jaime?”

“More,” he says, “Please.”

*

He’s not entirely sure what she’s doing and for a moment it is strange and awkward. She’s asked him to lift his feet and spread his knees and she’s maneuvering herself between his legs. But then she’s over him and his legs are around her, wrapped around her, tied around her, and oh gods oh gods oh gods—

*

The difference between being trapped and being held has never been greater. The ocean between the two concepts is so immense Jaime can not conjure up the memory of fear. Not when Brienne is here over him, around him, as he is under her, wrapped around her so tightly there is nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to be.

Just here.

Right here.

With Brienne.

*

The intimacy is staggering. The safety beyond his comprehension. Brienne.

He reaches up and touches her face.

“Is this all right?” she asks.

He nods. Manages to say yes. It is much better than all right.

Jaime has never been better.

*

Brienne leans down a little more, letting just a bit more of her weight rest against him as she tells him how she doesn’t take a moment of this for granted. Not a single moment.

His love. His trust. His vulnerability.

Him.

He is so precious to her.

He tries to reply but he’s here and in his body and he’s feeling everything everything everything so instead he lifts his bound wrists up and over her head and strokes his fingers through her hair. She seems to understand because there’s a thickness in her voice that wasn’t there before as she breathes his name against his neck.

*

“Brienne,” he warns.

And what he means is _It’s happening._

He can feel himself slipping. He won’t be able to stay above much longer. She is above him and holding him and he is bound and wrapped around her and he is here. Right here. Exactly right here.

The depths are calling.

“I know,” she assures him, “I’ve got you.”

So he lets himself drop.

*

He sinks

*

Jaime is slack and warm and willing beneath her. The fog of the last few days has shifted, now it is the two of them in a clearing and everything else is gone. She has him put his arms above his head. He feels his wrists slide down the headboard on their way to the bed as he complies and it feels amazing. Everything she’s doing to him feels amazing. Everything she’s telling him to do feels amazing.

To surrender to her this way, to submit to the safety of her as she holds him in place, holds him together as he gives in to her and his senses and how fucking good it feels to go under is such a gift. To get to let go and just. Fucking. Drop. Every time this happens he can’t believe that this feeling, this wonderful feeling, is familiar to him. That it is something he can ask for and she will give to him.

It is more than he could ever hope for.

But he doesn’t have to hope.

All he ever has to do is ask.

*

and sinks

*

Brienne presses both hands against his chest as she sits up for a moment. His legs are around her waist, and her knees are on either side of his hips on the bed. She pushes against his chest as she shifts back a few inches, then trails her hands to his hips, takes hold, and hauls him to her in one steady motion.

He feels his bound wrists drag from where they were up against the headboard to open mattress and he nearly blacks out.

But he doesn’t.

She’s got him.

*

and sinks

*

She talks him through the transition as she moves to straddle him instead, making sure he can feel her presence throughout. But then she’s over him again, her weight solid and anchoring as she settles above him. From here she’s in a better position to hold him down he realizes with near-delirious euphoria.

Exactly what he asked for. When she asked him what he needed tonight, this was his answer. And that is exactly what she is doing:

_Tie me up._

_Hold me down._

_Let me sink._

*

deeper

*

She takes hold of his wrists.

Presses him down against the bed.

Barely at all at first.

Then more and more.

Slow

Even

Pressure

It goes straight to his senses as uninhibited pleasure.

He tries to keep his eyes open the whole time, to let her see in his eyes exactly how good this feels, but at a certain point he can’t any longer and he hopes the way he’s babbling encouragement is enough.

*

and deeper

*

He’s under. Way under. Staring up at her from the depths. But she is right here with him. He’s way under but she is right here and he is safe. So fucking safe. His body is warm and heavy and so full, and it is so much. So much so much so much. To be in his body and to be hers all at once. Brienne is the only thing in focus, everything else is distant and far away. Hazy. Even when he closes his eyes, she is the only thing. The few thoughts he has are about her. About how fucking good this feels. How fucking good everything she’s doing to him feels.

Only the Seven know when he last spoke a coherent sentence.

Well.

The Seven, and Brienne.

*

and deeper still.

*

Brienne releases her hold on his wrist and moves to reach down and take him in hand.

“Like this?” she asks, stroking him once, making him gasp, “Or—”

He whimpers at the thought of being inside her. At the thought being inside her and held down and Right Here all at the same time. Stumbles and slurs his way through asking her to fuck him. Words are so hard right now. All he’s got at his disposal are “Yes” and “Please” and “Brienne” but she seems to get what he’s saying because she’s getting into position above him.

“Jaime,” she asks again, the tip of his cock is pressing against her, “Is this what you want?”

He’s only got three words at his disposal but the three of them are all he needs. Strung together and looped in every order he can get them out of his mouth in as Brienne grins down at him.

She sinks down onto him at glacial speed, oh so slowly taking him deeper

and deeper

and deeper.

*

Nothing in the world has ever felt as good as he does right now.

*

Brienne slows for a moment and then leans down, trailing her hand up his arm as she does so. She squeezes his forearm twice and then puts her hand in his. She waits.

He blinks. Looks up at her.

She’s checking on him. That means words have long since failed him. If he doesn’t respond in kind she will stop.

He squeezes her hand twice as he stares up at her. Letting her see. Hoping she understands.

_dontstopdontstopdontstopdontstopdontstopdontstopdontstopdontstop_

_please don’t stop._

She nods, caresses his hand on her way back to holding him down.

She doesn’t stop.

*

There is no beginning and no end.

Only Brienne and him and this. Such pleasure he can not contain it.

His brain is mush.

His body is hers.

And he is Here.

Right Here.

*

Jaime feels spent in the best way. Relaxed and drained and done. For the first time in a long while his exhaustion is not a product of stress or fatigue, just release. Complete and utter release.

He opens his eyes. He’s not under anymore but he’s still feeling the profundity of it. Of what it means to be held like that. To be that safe. To be loved the way Brienne loves him. And it is a lot. More than he can contain. More than he can comprehend.

When he is ready, and only when he is ready, Brienne unties him. She undoes the bindings on his wrists first, then his ankles, featherlight with her touch, careful to make sure not to rush him, to let him be the one to move when he is able. And once she has cast the rope aside she lies back down beside him.

She pushes a strand of hair off his forehead before running her fingers through his hair. His bliss escapes from him as a little moan. Her touch grounds him like nothing else.

His arms and legs are free but the only thing he wants to do right now is wrap himself around her again so that is what he does.

He’ll have to sit up for her to remove the harness at some point. He would happily sleep wearing it but he knows that if he does she will stay awake and watch over him until he wakes and consents to its removal to ensure that no strand of rope accidentally slips and finds a way to strangle him. The odds of that are extraordinarily small, but he knows she would worry and watch over him regardless, so he will ensure they take it off before he sleeps.

His gratitude is still far beyond his ability to articulate. No mortal man could possibly be expected to feel what she makes him feel, to experience what she lets him experience, and find adequate words afterwards, so he holds her and hopes that’s enough for now.

She kisses his temple and then pulls him closer still as she murmurs praise and admiration that goes straight to his heart, making his chest ache as he settles against her.

Jaime will never be used to this. This love.

At some point he will be ready to sit up long enough for her to remove the rope from his chest so they can sleep.

But not yet.

*

Casterly Rock is long out of sight but it is still on his mind. He and Brienne have been riding in comfortable silence for much of the day, talking occasionally about this and that, nothing heavy or serious. Nothing about the place they are leaving behind. Just travel conditions, possible routes, how many days they expect it will take before they are back home, that sort of thing. The rest of the time they are quiet together.

“I’m not sure there was a before,” Jaime admits into the silence between them. He’s never said that out loud. He’s not even sure he meant to say it out loud right now. But being back there… being back there it felt so obvious.

There wasn’t a before.

Not ever. Not for him.

And he’s never told anyone that.

Brienne turns to look at him and it’s clear she understands the weight of his statement. He didn’t mean to blindside her with anything, with…everything. She doesn’t know what to say. Of course she doesn’t. How could she possibly know how to respond to that? He has no idea what to do with that information either.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he tells her, reminded of the way she once looked at him from across a bath in silence as he spoke of why he killed the king he was sworn to protect a lifetime ago, how thoughtfully she had considered how she would respond before she did, “It’s just been on my mind. That’s all.”

She nods, still looking at him with such empathy he’s sorry he sprung this on her.

“It’s all right,” Jaime says, urging his horse onward, giving her a look that says this doesn’t have to be a thing. This moment can end. They can keep moving. Keep riding home. It’s all right.

“It’s not all right,” she says, sounding close to tears. He starts to apologize for saying anything but she stops him with a shake of her head that he understands. She’s not upset that he told her. She’s upset that it’s true.

Silence again. They ride on. The sun is close to the horizon when they stop to make camp for the night.

“Jaime… can I say something? About…?”

“Of course.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to overstep or say something trite or hurtful or…”

“I’m sure.” And he is. Whatever she has to say he wants to hear it.

“I was just thinking,” Brienne says as if still trying to get the words right before she continues, “Even if there wasn’t a before…” the pain in her voice as she echoes his phrasing is so visceral he feels her anguish more acutely than he’s ever felt his own, “There is an after.”

He thinks on that. Yes. An after. Where he has lived (and lived and lived) since.

Since Cersei became an after.

He nods and reaches for her hand, feels her respond to his touch with a gentle squeeze. He is strangely overcome by the simple gesture.

Cersei was the beginning.

But she wasn’t his end.


End file.
